


Hidden Depths

by ruric



Category: NCIS: Los Angeles
Genre: Community: fic_promptly, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-14
Updated: 2011-02-14
Packaged: 2021-02-28 07:21:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22549987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ruric/pseuds/ruric
Summary: Written for colls 2010 prompt: NCIS: LA, Deeks & or / Kensi, so this is what your place looks like
Collections: fic_promptly Fills 2010





	Hidden Depths

**Author's Note:**

> Written for colls 2010 prompt: NCIS: LA, Deeks & or / Kensi, so this is what your place looks like

His apartment is hidden away, up in the hills, which is unexpected. She'd thought maybe he'd have chosen Los Feliz or Silverlake - neighbourhoods with trendy bars and cafes - good hunting grounds for a guy who never seems to go home alone and who's longest relationship since he joined the team was a little over two weeks.

The building is unremarkable, white paint long turned to faded ivory and peeling, and it gives the appearance of settling back on its foundations, trying to sink into the bulk of the hillside which rises behind. 

They climb a warped wooden staircase, which creaks and groans under their combined weight with each step they take, to the top floor. He unlocks the door and shoulders it open, pockets the keys and stands back, gesturing her to go in first. Beyond his teasing and laid back attitude – half the stunts he pulls are designed to push her buttons - she's never underestimated his charm.

She steps past him expecting to see the untidiness of tangled clothes and half-eaten and abandoned takeout. He dresses like he's never come across the concept of ironing and she's far too familiar with how fast he wolfs down pizza and hot dogs in the middle of a job or a stake out. The fast chatter on Monday mornings, detailing the parties he's been to and his latest conquests, has almost become routine, to the point where she asks if he doesn't volunteer.

The door opens straight into the main living area and she stops short, her widening with surprise.

Large windows fill the room with dappled light, bringing out the honeyed tones of the wooden floor. Cream walls carry carefully placed framed paintings and beautifully composed photographs. A couple of worn woven rugs and a deep couch covered with a frayed woollen throw give it a homey feel. The kitchen area, tucked away at the back of the room beyond a breakfast bar, is pristine.

She's drawn in by the tidiness, catches sight of the artist's pad on the couch and turns to him. "May I?"

"Knock yourself out," he says, hand resting in the small of her back to push her slightly forwards as he brushes past. "Want a drink?"

"Yeah." 

She flips open the cover and her eyes are drawn to smudged and roughly drawn out faces she recognises. Hettie sitting at her desk, staring into the distance, lost in thought, a delicate cup by her elbow. Sam, stripped down, muscles rippling caught in the act of throwing a punch at the bag, G, running, shirt plastered to his skin, gun held loosely in his hand. One of her, head resting back against the car seat, her eyes closed, face relaxed.

"Here," he says holding out a long neck which she palms, raising it to her lips to take a long swallow. 

"So. This is your place?" She asks. "You've not borrowed it from a friend to create a good impression?"

He laughs at that, flash of teeth, softening down to a grin, humor crinkling the corners of his eyes. "Not what you expected?" 

"No, it really isn't," and she's kicking herself for being a thousand times a fool. Deeks has spent how much of his life undercover, constructing personas and aliases. Hettie had recruited him into a team that was still bleeding from the loss of Dom, a team that didn’t really want him. Is it any surprise that he'd hidden behind yet another facade? 

She lifts her bottle, clinks it against his and begins to reassess everything she thought she knew about her partner.


End file.
